


And Tomorrow

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Feels, Lactation Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: It’s a strangeness, a newness, a struggle; the late nights weigh heavy in the bags under his eyes, but seeded in the tiredness there is a satisfaction, a thought that maybe there’s some good left after all.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Kudos: 8





	And Tomorrow

_It’s never been— I don't. I dunno. I've never made much. Not enough. You’re sure?_

_Pet. The more we do this, the better._ And he’s selfish, just a little, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands mapping over your new flesh; he feels the heaviness of your breast in his palm, his thumb over the nipple bringing back a little shine— 

_Pet._ It’s a strangeness, a newness, a struggle; the late nights weigh heavy in the bags under his eyes, but seeded in the tiredness there is a satisfaction, a thought that maybe there’s some good left after all. 

—and he watches you watching him, and it’s been a while, hasn’t it? He’s hesitant; August is hesitant, and your hand on his cheek becomes a beacon and a centering point. _She’s sleeping. Let’s—_

It’s not a reset, but it’s a reprieve. It’s August with his mouth at your breast, mustache tickling at your skin. It's his deep breath and yours, the electric pulse of his lips closing around your nipple, curling his tongue a little as he begins to suck. It's the relief and gentle _ah_ of letdown, and the working of his throat as he swallows.

And when he lifts his head to kiss you it's with his eyes blown nearly black and a frisson of need that shivers through his fingertips; he is full of your taste, sweet like the milk when the cereal's all gone, thick and heavy on your tongue. He breathes against your lips a moment, and what he says is _more._ First one breast and then the other; he takes his fill and there's no denying the pleasure in it; he said _drink more to make more and_

_sure, August, sure, that's the reason._

_A reason. Not the only one._

he takes his pleasure where he can find it, and that's here, with you, half an ear open to the soft coos and grunts from the monitor, his fingertips twitching softly because he isn't sure, anymore, what to do. He isn't sure where he fits, with all the blood and violence he carries. You need softness.

_I need you. We need you._

And isn't that a strangeness, the way his life has suddenly been re-centered; he would claim pure pleasure and selfishness; he would try to hide behind the excuse of faintly taboo curiosity, but you can read him now. And you've heard him, deep in the night; his side of the bed is cold and it used to be that meant he'd left again for some job or other, but. Now it's something else; now it's the faint sound of humming from the other room, soft and low and you don't know this one but it's alright; this song is not for you. The song is theirs and that’s alright; what you have is changing but it isn’t any less. 

_Do you remember, pet_

_Of course I do_

_My boot on your neck, my hand inside you, all the filthy things you let me do_

_I wanted it all, still want it; we carved off pieces of ourselves to give away but look at how we grow together._

_How can you be sure?_

_Because I see you. I see you, and I know you, even if you think you’re hiding. Heard you humming in the kitchen, heard you tell her all about us, about the old days and the bloody days, about the way you thought to burn the world and how you fear the day she’ll think to ask about your scars._

_I’m not—_

_Nor am I. No one is. All we’ve got is this, and August, how I’ve missed your touch. And we’ll take it slow, we’ll find our path. We’re better than we were the day before, and tomorrow we’ll be better again than we are today._

It’s true, and every word is laced with sweetness, with the milk that coats his tongue and yours. It’s true and you can feel that tug, that line between your belly and his, pulling taut with need, with care, and he’s never said it but it must be there, that word, hovering behind his tongue like saying it will break the spell, like 

_Love—_


End file.
